What’s at the Indian Shop


When I walked past the Capitol sometime after 7, the light in the cupola showing that Congress was still in session was blazing brightly, making my 10 and a half hour day seem short. I returned to my desk after the week in Miami to several dozen emails. By the time it was midday, an new meeting was scheduled for tomorrow that had not been in the emails or existing calendar, my catching up was interrupted by the need to give background to a reporter, and I was asked to chair a meeting tomorrow that I usually just attend. None of this felt stressful, but it did mean that to get enough done to handle my work responsibly and also get a good night’s rest, I could not leave in time for the two-hour Monday night class at Willow Street.
It seems perhaps not quite right that going out of town to study makes it harder to study with and support my local teachers, whom I love and respect. I think they understand, though, when I have been to study with our mutual teacher and bring back to share the energy of our wider community.
And now for a deep, quieting practice and my evening meditation before bathing and bed. It has been a long day.
Could you find your innards gorgeous–the blood, sinovial fluid, organs of digestion and elimination? What about your inner thoughts and memories, the ones you do not want to share?
That, of course, is not the point, here. What does it mean to be gorgeous inside? As a found exhortation it is to invite us to find (and seek) the wondrous and exquisite place where external (including your internal critic) judgment and values become irrelevant (even while recognizing that we are still working on things).
To find that gorgeous and glorious inner space and rest in it is one of the reasons to meditate–especially those of us who have a tendency to hear at times all too loudly the inner and outer voices of criticism.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
After a day of teaching and more discussion and emails regarding the upheaval, I had a memory of petting one of the temple cows at Chidambaram. I was jetlagged and in sensory overload, and then I petted a most wonderful cow. I dropped into a space where I was perfectly at peace and unaware of the time and all the things going on around me. This space is always there for us, even in the absence of a sacred cow, and we practice so that we can find it more and more consistently, especially when we are being challenged.
I did not photograph the Chidambaram temple cow, although a nice Indian lady asked me if her husband could photograph the two of us with the cow, so she has a photograph of herself with the strange American lady in a sari who was petting the cow. I stopped to pet many cows after that. In one town, a man told me, as I was scritching a cow between ears and horns, that the cow would enjoy a banana.